


Ever The Same (Carry My Heart)

by Ellie5192



Series: Chasing Rainbows [7]
Category: Battlestar Galactica, Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M, Tag for season 3, Tag: s03e04 Exodus II, last in the series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 14:14:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/724218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellie5192/pseuds/Ellie5192
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“She tells herself that there’s plenty of time to be Presidential later, but right now she needs her best friend, and he seems to understand, because his arms come up to hold her…”</p><p>Last in the Chasing Rainbows series. A/R. Canon-friendly. Can stand alone as a one-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ever The Same (Carry My Heart)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the last fic in this little series, and I'm quite sad to see it go. The title and storyline of this series was inspired by the song "I'm Always Chasing Rainbows", and in keeping with that mood, I give you the finale...
> 
> "I'm always chasing rainbows waiting to find a little bluebird in vain"

**_Ever The Same (Carry My Heart)_ **

****

It takes almost two full days after the rescue for him to see her. It’s been sixth months for them, so really a couple of days should mean nothing, but it had taken twelve hours after jumping away for him to get confirmation that she was on Colonial One at all, and the cold stone that rested under his ribs is still there despite reassurances.

He’s known terror before. He was not expecting to feel it in relation to her.

He gets Racetrack to fly him over to her ship, and though Zarek is staying there too, he has heard whispers that a quick reshuffle of cabinet is imminent, and he wonders if they’ve perhaps become friends in his absence. War, he has found, can make the most unlikely allies from the greatest of enemies, if the common opposing force is strong enough. It’s a lesson he did not learn easily.

His meeting is semi-official- the first debrief of the executive levels- and so his uniform is immaculate and Racetrack escorts him to the boardroom, though she leaves him at the door with a respectful nod. He braces himself and pulls back the curtain.

She’s pacing a few steps at a time, calm and yet deep in thought. On the table in front of her is a single page agenda- the beginnings of order restored- and a stack of worn notebooks he doesn’t recognise. She hears him enter, and immediately her eyes snap to his, her face betraying her emotion even as she struggles to keep this about work. She has yet to claim back her bag of suits she left with him, and so is dressed in plain pants and the same olive green shirt she left his ship wearing, almost a year and a half year ago. He could cry at the symbolism. 

“Bill” she whispers, her voice almost cracking and her body rigid with the effort of keeping her emotions in check. 

In a few measured strides- deliberate yet restrained- he crosses the distance to her and comes to stop right in her space, certainly too close for propriety, yet further than he’d like. Her hand comes up to rest on his upper arm, the other folded across her chest like a barrier, and he places his own hand on her elbow- the one held tight against her body- as a way of reaching out. 

Her gaze meets his.

“Missed you, Laura” he says, his eyes betraying the depth of that emotion where his rough tone does not. She thinks it might be that look which finally does it, and she folds herself into an embrace before she completely breaks down. She tells herself that there’s plenty of time to be Presidential later, but right now she needs her best friend, and he seems to understand, because his arms come up to hold her just as tightly.

“Well done. You got us home, Bill” she whispers into his neck. 

“I’m sorry it took so long”

He knows that she was in the highest ranks of the resistance; knows how hard both sides worked to coordinate the rescue effort without detection. He’s aware that she probably knows the details of planning involved, and knows why it took as long as it did, and she was in the small circle of people who will never have to question exactly how it was all done. Still, the feeling of failure- or at least of complacency- sits inside him, and he wonders how much more enthusiastic his actions would have been if he’d seen her in a prison cell, starving and tired. He thinks of Saul, with his missing eye and dead wife, and knows she must have seen the inside of the same interrogation facility. He doesn’t know what was done to her, if anything, and maybe that’s the worst part. It sickens him. As a leader- as The Admiral- he has made peace with his decisions and is proud of their rescue effort. As her friend, or whatever else, he feels nausea in his stomach and a crawling on his skin that he can’t shake, even now; even with her well and safe in his arms.

She seems to sense the conflict in him, or at least senses his grief, because she squeezes him tight one more time before slowly letting go. 

“I knew you’d get there” she says with conviction. He smiles; small but genuine. It’s the start of the healing process for everyone. He’s no different.

She visibly straightens, shaking her head, and he sees President Roslin standing before him despite the clothes, and he marvels at her strength. Just a schoolteacher indeed. She gestures to a chair and they both sit. They talk for hours about how the fleet will proceed from here, and she confirms that Zarek will give her back her Presidency, confiding that she’d like to keep the man close despite their differences, and sometime much later he notices the cold stone in his gut is gone, and his skin no longer crawls. 

The night gets late, but neither of them seems to notice, though he’s aware of the shift he has to work in the morning and the many displaced people he has to start relocating.

He’s walking to the doorway to go back to Galactica when she calls his name softly. 

He turns around and she’s approaching him, a wary expression on her face and the mysterious books in her hands. 

“I kept journals” she says softly, meaningfully. 

His face betrays his shock, and he knows he must look horrified, but she’s not being coy about it, and he senses that this gift- this story she’s about to impart- is the most important one they will share. She stops close to him.

“I was going to keep them in our archives for posterity- a few others have done the same… but I wanted you to read them first”

She’s looking right through him, and it’s disarming to be known so deeply by another person. She’s reading his every private thought, and he could almost feel angry for the intrusion, except this is who they are, and no time or distance will change that.

“I know you hold a lot of guilt. I can see that. Perhaps this will help you see the other side of it” 

She holds out the journals wordlessly and he takes them, running his fingers over the front pages, refusing to analyse what it means that she’s giving him the key to her heart and asking him to understand it. He acknowledges that these are more than mere log books.

She’s an academic; her prose will no doubt illuminate her world down on the planet; paint a vivid picture. He’s already mentally preparing himself for the horrors he will find inside, and refuses to ignore the clear images of war already forming in his mind. He owes them- her- at least that much.

He clutches the journals close to his chest with a muttered acknowledgement.

“You can return them whenever you like. And I’ll see you tomorrow for our food resources update”

It could almost be a dismissal, but he hears it as a promise, and she’s probably aware that he’ll read every word tonight, and that’s okay. They look at each other wordlessly for a long moment, cataloguing and summarising. They are both darker now, but he knows that with time and a bit of luck it won’t always feel like the bottom is about to fall out, and with that thought he leans in and brushes his lips against hers, a ghost of what they had. 

It’s reminiscent of the first time he kissed her; comforting, like a show of solidarity; a rumble of something else barely felt under the surface.

There seems to be a mutual feeling between them that they cannot go further; that their focus now must be on restoring their people after such a trauma. The parents of humanity must now fight for their children. 

He doesn’t think either of them is in a place at the moment to continue on that trajectory anyway. He wonders how long it will take; if they ever will be.

He pulls back from her, and they smile softly at each other, the silence filled with everything they’re not saying. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow Admiral” 

“Until then, Ms Roslin” 

They part with a smile; with a promise; with long forgotten hope. They part as themselves and as the people they once were. The curtain falls closed between him as he leads himself to the shuttle hanger. He doesn’t turn back.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fic inspired by the poem 'i carry your heart' by e.e.cumings, and, the Rob Thomas song of the same name, because it came on my iPod while I was writing this on the train, and I swear I nearly burst into tears at how well it fit.  
> “Just let me hold you while you're falling apart; just let me hold you and we'll both fall down.”
> 
> And That's All Folks!   
> Honestly, these fics have been making my train rides fun, and I hope you've enjoyed them. I may in the future find inspiration to post within this universe, with other characters and other moments we haven't seen. I'm sorry that it wasn't more shippy, but I promise you there are some moments that haven't made it into this series that will make it into their own stories.   
> I hope it's been as great for you as it was for me. Let me know what you think, and happy reading.


End file.
